Mating Games 6: Clouds Gathering
by Kimberly T
Summary: COMPLETE! Goliath and Elisa emerge from their honeymoon to learn the history of the New Orleans Clan, the lies that have kept them alive for centuries. They also find that not all is as well with their clan members as they had hoped. 32nd in the series.
1. The Honeymooners

LIFE GOES ON

**MATING GAMES PART 6: **

**Clouds Gathering**

By Kimberly T. (email: kimbertow -at- yahoo dot com)

Standard disclaimers and acknowledgments apply. I'm not making a dime of profit; please don't sue.

Author's Note: the tragic demise of the Paris Clan, and Demona's involvement in it, can be read in the TGS story "From the Heart." My tale does diverge from that story somewhat, but only in that my version of the Paris Clan had no eggs in the rookery at that time (different timing for breeding seasons.)

_New Orleans, the week after Thanksgiving, 1996:_

**6.1: The Honeymooners**

Monday came, and Elisa glad to see it. Not that she didn't love to have time alone with her husband, her beloved Goliath; she had treasured nearly every moment of this last weekend. Since the world at large still considered her to be a single woman, and since after all that had happened Elisa still wasn't comfortable under the same roof as the Xanatos family, even now that they were married their time together was relatively rare, something to be savored. Being given a little cottage to themselves for the weekend, for a "second honeymoon", had been a true delight. And even though she knew it was due more to his gargoyle physiology than to her good looks, there was something delicious about knowing that, sometimes, her man just couldn't keep his hands off her.

However, even a honeymooner could get—well, not bored, but…just want to do something fun, in addition to nearly nonstop sex. But she'd stayed in the cottage that the New Orleans Clan had loaned to her and Goliath, for the duration of her fertile period. It wasn't just for her own modesty's sake, either (though she suspected she was going to turn red as a traffic light the first time someone gave her a knowing look and/or commented on all the noise they'd been making.) Goliath had explained to her how, when she was fertile, the sight or even scent of another male anywhere near her would instantly enrage him; the instinctive rage of a breeding male trying to pass on his genes to the next generation and finding competition in the way.

While Elisa knew, deep in her soul, that Goliath would never lay violent hands on her, she wasn't so sure that he had enough self-control to avoid doing damage to the cottage's furniture. So she'd stayed in the cottage, sleeping most of the days away, and spoken face-to-face with no one, not even any women who might have had recent contact with a man. And despite all her precautions, she'd still have to find a way to repay the clan for the easy chair they'd broken. (Though not in an act of rage; Goliath had wanted to try a new position with her, and the furniture hadn't quite been up to the task…!)

Not that she'd been entirely isolated; she had spoken through the door to the people who came to bring trays of food during the daylight hours, though the exchanges had been mostly just minor pleasantries about the weather or about the different Cajun and Creole-style dishes they'd been bringing her. She'd also spoken a few times on the cell phone that Xanatos had given her before leaving for New Orleans, one that her home phone number had been forwarded to. Chavez had called once, on Sunday evening (and of course Goliath had taken advantage of her preoccupation with the phone, to play his little tail tricks on her; she'd had to fake a violent coughing fit while batting the pesky devil back before he got too carried away with her!) Elisa had assured her captain that she was doing fine, the coughing was just from some water that had gone down the wrong pipe, but she was absolutely covered with chicken pox and had no idea when the blasted disease would run its course and she could return to work.

Matt had called twice, once on Friday night and again on Saturday afternoon. The Friday night call had been cut very short, at Elisa's suggestion; she'd noticed how Goliath's eyes had been glowing and he'd been sinking his talons into the carpet, just because Elisa was _on the phone_ with another man. After hanging up, Elisa had taken Goliath to task for not controlling his instincts better; it wasn't like she and Matt had been having phone sex right in front of him! Then she'd had to explain what 'phone sex' was, which had led to another very interesting experiment…

During the second call, Saturday afternoon while Goliath was asleep in stone and blissfully unaware, Matt had apprised Elisa of the latest events in New York. Elisa had agreed with Matt that Xanatos was a sneaky, arrogant bastard who really needed to be taken down a peg or three, but the clan would be far better off if the public believed that costumed criminals had been the other combatants in last Monday's battle with the Quarrymen. And the clan would be even better off if Demona stayed away from New York from now on and made her home in Japan, though Elisa shuddered to think of what damage that bloodthirsty bitch of a gargoyle could do to the peaceful village of Ishimura, and fervently hoped that Kai and the others knew what they were getting into with her.

With Demona out of the country and the public believing that the gargoyles weren't to blame for the deaths of eleven Quarrymen after all, it was probably safe for the clan to come home now. But Elisa hadn't said anything to Goliath about that… partly because, so far as the Big Guy knew, the only reasons they were out of the city at all were to make an alliance with the New Orleans Clan, and let their clan's unmated males find mates among the single females available down here.

Elisa still hadn't told Goliath or any of the clan about Monday's Quarrymen battle, about the city that had been screaming for their blood, or about Demona's involvement in that battle and the suspected presence of foreign gargoyles as well. Since she knew that they would have wanted to investigate personally and thereby remain in the danger zone, she hadn't told anyone for the clan's own good… and every time she thought of that she had to fight down the urge to vomit. Demona had done such horrible things, atrocities, for what that female had been so sure was for the good of all gargoyles…

But that was something to push out of her mind once more, to worry about some other day. Today marked what should be the end of her current fertile period, and she'd aired out every room of the cottage to get rid of any lingering scent, before trotting up to the mansion in the late afternoon to see what had been happening with the clans lately. She found Fox, sitting and chatting with one of the human clan members, and managed not to blush _too _red when Fox asked her how her weekend had been with that inevitable lascivious wink. Fox caught her up to speed on the affairs of the rest of the clan:

Lexington and Rebecca, who had just begun to show their affections for each other last Thursday, had already agreed to become mates! They were in New Orleans right now, but had called the mansion last night to tell everyone the good news.

Lexington wasn't the only one who had proposed while Goliath and Elisa had been preoccupied. Although 'proposed' evidently wasn't quite the word for it, from what Fox had heard… but however it had happened, Hudson had agreed to become mates with Ursula, less than an hour after Lexington's news had reached the mansion!

Elisa was sincerely glad for the two gargoyle elders, though not nearly as surprised by their decision as she was by Lexington and Rebecca's pairing up so quickly. She hadn't seen much of Lex and Rebecca together, but before she and Goliath had sequestered themselves, she'd seen how the two elders spent most of their time together. And not with the nervous tension that had surrounded Brooklyn and the ladies vying for his attentions; no, theirs was the sort of closeness that was comfortable, like cats curled up and dozing together before a fireplace.

Fox confirmed that the elders' comfortable closeness had become even more apparent over the last few nights; when not keeping an eye on the younger courting couples to ensure everyone behaved themselves, Hudson had even accompanied Ursula while she'd been taking care of the New Orleans Clan's hatchlings. They would sit contentedly together, watching the children play with Bronx, who was getting more loving attention and playtime from the hatchlings than he'd had in years.

Fox also reported that Brooklyn had set up a dating schedule to settle some of the conflicts between the four females competing for his affections. Last Saturday he'd gone to New Orleans with Marie, Sunday he'd gone in with Martha, and on Tuesday he was going in with Isabel, but tonight he was going in with Yvette. Yvette was one of the clan's most talented seamstresses, and she had agreed to take a few minutes out from her date tonight to take Lexington's measurements; this clan had a tradition of wearing fancy clothes for mating ceremonies just as humans did for weddings, and Lexington was going to need a custom-made tuxedo. It would be a challenge to make a tuxedo or reasonable facsimile for a web-winged gargoyle, but Yvette was reportedly confident that she could do it.

Angela had been helping out the clan's chronicler with some old documents that had been written in Latin, and now that she'd finished with that she was eagerly exploring New Orleans. Last night she'd gone in without Broadway, since he'd been busy in the kitchen while Martha was on her date, but tonight they were going in together. Broadway had made a list of the places he wanted to see; some of them weren't the usual tourist attractions, but they were places that Martha had written about in her novels.

"Oh, that was the other thing I meant to tell you!" Fox said with a snap of her fingers, after Elisa had looked at her blankly and echoed, "Novels?" It seemed that some of the gargoyles in this clan were contributing to their keep, and not just by catching game and fishing for everyone in the nearby bayou; they were honest breadwinners! Martha hadn't really made that much so far from her books, the "Gumshoe Gumbo" series of humorous mystery novels set in New Orleans, but several other gargoyles were artists in one medium or another, and the human clan members sold their works for them in local galleries, swap meets and art fairs.

Isabel, who crafted metalwork sculptures, had even sent a piece to a gallery in New York two months ago, not long before news of the Manhattan gargoyles had reached New Orleans. "I told David about that when I called him earlier, and he said he'd go take a look at it sometime today or tomorrow," Fox said with a smile. "If it's as good as the ones I've already seen in her workshop, I wouldn't be surprised to see it displayed somewhere in the Aerie Building by the end of the week. Remind me to show you the mini-sculpture of hers I already bought; a tabletop-sized one of a fox chasing a rabbit. It's so good, you have to look twice in order to realize she made the whole sculpture out of old car and engine parts…"

Elisa spent the rest of the afternoon with Fox and their clan escort, peeking into the artisans' workspaces scattered here and there across the estate. She particularly admired a fired clay sculpture that someone named Robert had made, of a cat crouching while peering intently at something unseen; it seemed as if at any second the statue would spring to life as a gargoyle did at sunset, and immediately pounce on its chosen prey. Robert also did oil paintings, and Elisa thought her brother Derek might appreciate one that Robert still had on his work-in-progress easel; an image of an octopus slipping out of its den in a coral reef, to snag a fish swimming by.

Sunset approached, and Elisa went back to the cottage to wait for Goliath to awaken. Stone skin cracked and fell away as he roared a greeting to the night, then rumbled a quieter and far more affectionate greeting to Elisa. She snuggled into his embrace for a moment before asking, "So, has my scent changed again?"

"It has," he confirmed with a faint sigh of regret. Then he added hastily, "Though that certainly hasn't lessened your overall attractiveness, in my eyes!"

"Glad to hear it, Big Guy," Elisa responded with an affectionate squeeze. Then she gave a tiny yelp of surprise, and looked down to see his tail twined around her leg and snaking upwards. She looked up again to see the suggestive glint in his eyes, and decided aloud, "What the heck; I didn't tell anyone we'd be out immediately…"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

They eventually emerged from the cottage together, just in time to wave goodbye to Brooklyn, Angela and Broadway, leaving for New Orleans with the local clan members Yvette, Lucretia and Cassius. "We can arrange to give you both a guided tour of the city as well," the clan leader Adam said as he stood beside them, while the delivery truck rumbled down the long driveway and out of sight. "The city has many attractions that it would be a shame to miss, even though Mardi Gras is still a few months away. But for tonight, after taking care of necessary business, I thought I would show you something here on the estate…"

To be continued… 


	2. Getting There is Half the Fun

**6.2: Getting There is Half the Fun**

Inside the delivery truck, conditions were a bit cramped with six adult gargoyles in the back. Lucretia and Cassius assured their guests that the truck normally held this many gargoyles twice a week, when the clan rotated the patrols in New Orleans. But, Yvette cheerfully added, their clan had very few members as large as Broadway, let alone their so-aptly-named giant leader Goliath.

And when confronted with Angela's furious glare, Broadway's glum look down at his still-very-overweight torso, and Brooklyn's uncomfortable cough, Yvette brightly added, "So I will make more room on the bench, for the elders and the already affianced ones to make themselves more comfortable!" And with that, she hopped right into Brooklyn's lap. "You don't mind, do you, _cher_ Brooklyn?" she murmured as she settled in, blithely throwing her left arm across his shoulders and caped wings and wrapping her tail around his right calf. "So gallant, to be so considerate of your elders and clanmates' comfort…"

Brooklyn blushed and stammered, and Angela looked outraged, but Lucretia and Cassius only chuckled indulgently before turning conversation to the sights they intended to see that night. They intended to show Broadway and Angela the French Quarter, the French Market, the Musée Conti Historical Wax Museum and Mardi Gras World where many of the famous parade floats were made. "And you, Yvette and Brooklyn; where do you intend to go tonight?" Lucretia asked.

"If you are willing to make 'the Wax' your first stop, I think Brooklyn and I shall join you for that one," Yvette mused. "It's a fine place to learn more of our city's history, and Brooklyn would probably appreciate your fine storytelling, Lucretia, than my poor attempts at same. After that… _cher_ Brooklyn, what place would you like to see, or see again?"

"Well… I've already seen the French Quarter and French Market a couple times, but I haven't been to Mardi Gras World yet," Brooklyn said hesitantly. "How about making it a double date, or triple date, for that place too?"

Lucretia and Cassius were agreeable, and Broadway said he was fine with it too, though Angela hesitated a bit before agreeing. Yvette said with a smile, "Then it's settled! Once we are arrived at the safe house, I shall take fifteen minutes to take Lexington's measurements and discuss ideas for his wedding wear. Then we are all off to 'the Wax' together, and from there to Mardi Gras World. And after we have seen all there is to see there," as she lightly caressed Brooklyn under his beak, "You and I, _cher_ Brooklyn, shall leave the group and find other places to see. I have a few ideas for wonderful places to see, and grand ways to show you a good time…"

Brooklyn audibly gulped and blushed even redder. Angela's face was expressionless, but her tail lashed once or twice before she wrapped it around her calf, just as Broadway noticed the movement. He gave her a brief worried look, before saying aloud, "Well, while we're all waiting to get there, what shall we talk about?"

"Why not tell us a tale of old Scotland?" Cassius suggested. "We've told you plenty about where we live, but I believe only the chronicler has heard any tales of where your clan used to dwell. How about a story from your younger days?"

"That's a wonderful idea!" Angela said with a smile. "Princess Katherine and the other guardians used to tell us tales of what life was like in their old home, but it'd be even better to hear the stories from a gargoyle's perspective!"

Yvette crooned while running her talons through Brooklyn's mane, "Please, Brooklyn? I really know so little about your mysterious past, and I would so like to get to know you better…"

Brooklyn and Broadway looked at each other a bit uncomfortably, but finally nodded. "The bandit raids from the winter of 983?" Brooklyn suggested. Broadway agreed, and suggested that Brooklyn start the tale.

Brooklyn cleared his throat a couple times and began, "In the year 983, the gargoyle we now call Hudson still led the clan, and Goliath was his second-in-command. Winter came early that year; we'd already had the first snows by the time the humans had their Michaelmas celebration. Fortunately, the humans had listened to the Magus's warnings, and harvested as much as they could before the killing frosts, so they weren't any more worried about starvation during the lean months than usual. We in the clan were ready for a long winter, too; our elder sister with the spiral horns had shown us how to smoke meat like the humans did so it lasted a long time, and we'd made our own smoking-cave in the cliffs, where we had plenty of smoked meat stored. But the sudden snows caught some folks unprepared, and we heard about other places where crops were ruined and people were already starving. And when word was passed around that Wyvern had food aplenty, people began showing up on our doorstep; just beggars and such at first. But then a bandit chief decided he wanted Wyvern's food stores …"

While Brooklyn told the story, growing more at ease and more animated in his speech with every passing minute, Broadway looked down and noticed that Angela's tail was no lounger wound around her calf, but lying free and easy except for a slightly twitching tip. Casually, he shifted his tail across the floor or the truck until his tailtip was lying beside hers, then maneuvered to twine them together.

* * *

Angela hadn't been too happy about having to share the delivery truck with Yvette for the trip into New Orleans. She'd formed an instant dislike of the female when, during their welcoming feast, that—that _strumpet_!—had tried to play tail-games with Broadway, right in front of her! Her dear, loyal Broadway had put a stop to such games immediately by publicly declaring himself "off the market", and since then Yvette had been concentrating on Brooklyn. But Angela still didn't like her, and secretly hoped that Brooklyn didn't favor her either. Although, judging by the way he _wasn't _throwing Yvette off his lap or objecting to all the caresses she was giving him…

Well, at least Yvette was leaving Broadway alone now. Except for that rude comment about Broadway's size... The sheer nerve of that wench! Even if Angela privately and wholeheartedly agreed that Broadway needed to lose a lot of weight, one did _not_ say anything about it in front of strangers! Did Yvette have no inhibitions at all?

Silly question; it was all too evident that she didn't. Princess Katherine would have had extremely strong words with Yvette for acting like that in public. Princess had always been very clear on which displays of affection were acceptable in front of others, and which should be done only in private. There were _rules_… but Yvette didn't seem to care about those rules, or about anything except making Brooklyn her mate. It's true she wasn't nearly as bad as Marie, but really, Martha would make a much better mate for Brooklyn and better addition to the clan.

But as Brooklyn told his tale from old Scotland, she forced all that out of her mind and just concentrated on the story. And it was a grand story, too… She'd heard part of it before, from her guardians while growing up on Avalon, but Brooklyn had a completely different perspective, and gave a lot more details about the clan's involvement.

Oh, how Angela loved storytime… Some of her best memories of her family on Avalon were of sitting with her rookery kin at the feet of Princess Katherine, or the Magus, or Guardian Tom as they told stories of what life had been like at Castle Wyvern. As well as tales of Jason and the Argonauts and other Greek heroes, and tales of heroes from the Bible, and eventually tales of what Guardian Tom had seen in his journeys to the outer world every four years. Even once the gargoyles had grown until most of them were as tall as or even taller than their guardians, everyone would come running for storytime.

Angela sighed happily, and wondered when Brooklyn would get to the part where Goliath (her father! All those stories took on even greater significance to her now, now that she knew she was actually related to the hero in so many of them) took out a small band of raiders nearly all by himself. With Brooklyn telling the tale, it would probably be even more thrilling…

She felt something brushing her tail, and automatically flicked the tip up and away with barely a second thought. That opossum her rookery brother Theseus kept for a pet was always scampering around underfoot at storytime. It was a pest, but Theseus would get upset at anyone who swatted it away; best to just get one's tail out of reach…

* * *

Angela didn't even look at Broadway; just flicked her tail up and away from twining with his.

She didn't want him anymore. Up until last Sunday, despite the firm restrictions Angela had set on intimacy during courting (right after the Coldstone affair), she had been perfectly okay with holding hands and twining tails with him, both in private and in the Great Hall right in front of everybody. But now, even with Yvette right there in Brooklyn's lap showing it was okay to be more physically affectionate, she wasn't willing to even twine tails with him anymore.

It was because of his wing, he knew. Even if he regained the skies and learned to glide solo again, he'd never be as fast or maneuverable in the air as he used to be. Angela knew that as well as he did, and despite what she'd been saying for the last few days, now she was looking elsewhere for a mate who actually had a hope of catching her during a mating flight. That's why she was so angry about the way Yvette was acting; she was looking at Brooklyn as a potential mate again, and Yvette as her competition!

Damn that Quarryman assassin! He'd cost Broadway not only the use of his wing, but his one true love…

Broadway screwed his eyes shut, determined that he would _not_ cry in front of everyone. But he spent the rest of the trip in silence, not even contributing to the stories Brooklyn was telling about the old clan. A glum silence, spiked with occasionally bitter thoughts about the future. The thought that gave him a mean measure of satisfaction was that Angela would probably find she had some stiff competition now…

_To be continued…_


	3. More Games

**6.3: More Games**

Lexington, Rebecca and Robert sat around a table in the loft of the safe house, playing poker while waiting for the truck from the estate to arrive with Yvette and the others in it. Rebecca said as she accepted a card from Robert, the dealer, "Next time, remind me to bring the Roborally game in from the estate. That's a much better way to pass the time!"

"Because you actually win those games more often than not, whereas we already know I'm going to win all your pennies," Robert said matter-of-factly as he picked up his cards. "Besides, those Roborally games always last at least half the night, and from dusk to dawn if you have more than a few players. Yvette and the others will be here in less than an hour to take Lex's measurements and talk about designs, and I thought you wanted to go out on the town afterwards."

"Well, yeah, but I'd still rather play Roborally than poker. And it's not just because I usually lose; I won a hand just last week!" Rebecca said peevishly.

Lexington gave her a look of sympathy that didn't quite hide the merriment in his eyes, then stage-whispered to Robert, "Can't bluff her way out of a paper bag, huh?"

"She's got more tells than I've got tail-hairs," Robert stage-whispered back. "Watch her brow ridges…"

Rebecca immediately slapped a hand over her brow ridges, then glared at the two males. "Ha ha, very funny," she growled at Robert. "Next Roborally game, I'm going to go postal on your 'bot, and kick you all over the board!"

"So that's a really good game, then… Roborally, that is?" Lex asked. "I've heard some buzz about it online…"

"It's a great game!" Rebecca said enthusiastically. "When we've seen all the sights in the city and head back to the estate, I'll show you how to play it. I guarantee you'll love it!"

"How much longer are you planning to play tourist, anyway?" Robert asked Rebecca. "Other than the steamboats and waterfront attractions we're going to visit tonight, I think Lex has seen just about everything interesting that we can sneak into or glide over. The city's actually pretty dull right now," he said in an aside to Lex. "If you folks stick around until Christmastime, things will get a lot livelier. And right after Christmas, there's the Sugar Bowl if you're into football. And after that, everyone kicks into high gear preparing for Mardi Gras…"

"I was figuring just one more night after this one, to check out the stuff on the south and west sides of town," Rebecca said. "Then we'd head back to the estate, and go hunting in the bayou. I still have to show Lex how to catch a gator for dinner… Did you want to come along, back to the estate with us?" she asked Robert with a trace of anxiousness.

After a brief pause, Robert slowly nodded. "It's about time I headed back anyway. I have a question to ask Goliath, about how many perches he has open…"

Rebecca gasped, and stared at him hard. "Y-you're gonna come? Really?"

"Yes, assuming that the rest of--"

But the rest of Robert's words were cut off as Rebecca threw her cards in the air with a whoop, then bounded up and over the table to give Robert a rib-crushing hug. "This is great! You'll love it in New York, I promise!"

"Uh, hey, did I miss something?" Lex asked plaintively, after dodging the cards and pennies that had been sent flying everywhere.

"Oh, sorry; this is what I was talking to Robert about, after we came back last night," Rebecca said after somewhat reluctantly letting go of her rookery brother. "I want Robert to come to New York with us! It'll be great for your clan, really; Robert can put his paintings and sculptures on display under his own name, and show the world that gargoyles can be not only civilized, but great artists too! And maybe after the general public accepts us, Robert can find a mate up there; I've heard that New York has an active gay scene…"

Lex blinked, and looked at Robert. "You're gay?"

Robert gave Rebecca a reproving glance as he muttered, "You've really got to stop trying to protect me; it always backfires." Then he turned to Lex and said with deliberate calm, "Yes, I'm gay. I know Rebecca told you I had a human mate, but she didn't say his name was Philip… Your rookery brother Brooklyn said he had no problem with my sexual orientation, and neither would your leader Goliath. But do you?"

Lexington half-chuckled as he gave a small shake of his head. "No problem here! In fact, I'm--"

"See, Robert? It'll be great!" Rebecca interrupted, nearly shouting in her excitement, though part of her euphoria was from sheer relief. In the few seconds between Lex's question and his reply to Robert, her heart had nearly stopped; she'd forgotten to tell Lex the full truth about her rookery brother and his mate. But now that it turned out everything was okay, she wanted to dance around the room for joy. Having a mate to herself **_and_** her favorite rookery brother with her in New York would really be the best of both worlds!

"Ah, just one word of caution," Lexington said with an upraised talon. "We may have the P.I.T. on our side now, but that hardly means all of New York has come to accept us. And there's still a lot of prejudice against those who aren't strictly hetero; not as bad as prejudice against gargoyles, but we've all seen the signs, and they can get pretty ugly. Once the population finds out you're gay…"

"Don't worry; I'm not going to come gliding in wearing a 'Gay Pride' T-shirt and holding a rainbow flag in my talons," Robert said dryly. "I can be as discreet as necessary, as long as necessary. Believe me, not everyone down here is tolerant, either… So I long since decided that I would never make a pass or even show interest in a male unless I'm pretty damn sure he's interested in me first."

"He'll be great, honest!" Rebecca insisted. "After he saved Philip's life in a boating accident and became friends with him, it took almost six months for them to actually get intimate!" She turned to Robert and said teasingly, "Philip told me he had to almost bonk you over the head and drag you back to his house by the mane, to convince you that he was serious..."

"Gee, thanks, Becky. Does that mean I can bring up some of your more embarrassing moments in front of Lex now? Because you know I've got plenty of ammunition," Robert said warningly.

"Hey, let's keep it friendly, okay?" Lex said with a note of alarm in his voice. "It'd be a shame to ruin our night of fun before it even got started… Weren't we playing a game of poker?"

"He's right, we were. Pick up your cards and get back to your seat, sis," Robert said as he waggled a talon at her. "Time to lose all your pennies again…"

Rebecca growled at him as she picked up her cards and handed them back to be shuffled and re-dealt, but she couldn't keep up the grumpiness. She was just too happy! Everything was working out right, everything would be just fine…

_Of course, those are famous last words. To be continued_… 


	4. History Lessons

**6.4: History Lessons**

Two hours after sunset, Elisa walked with Goliath and Adam into an ancient cemetery at the edge of the clan's estate. As was the custom here in an area with such a high water table, the cemetery consisted mostly of mausoleums rather than burial plots; the local plant life grew rampant between the small stone buildings, green covering much of the gray. "The path is fairly clear right now," Adam said as he walked unerringly through the undergrowth. "I always clear it out when I visit, the evening of every All Saints' Day."

"The day after Halloween," Elisa added to Goliath as she walked alongside him, though she found the going harder as the path through the undergrowth was really wide enough only for one. Goliath thought so, too, and urged her to walk in front of him. Unfortunately, the overcast sky almost completely hid the moon from view and made it hard for even Elisa's night-adjusted eyes to see, though the gargoyles naturally had no trouble, and more than once she tripped on an unseen branch or rock. After the second time Goliath had made a split-second grab to keep her from falling down, she observed wryly, "Maybe I should let you go first."

"Or maybe I should just carry you," Goliath said as he swiftly scooped her up into his arms. When she made only a token protest, he set off down the path again after Adam. They caught up to him a few moments later, to find him waiting for them by a raised stone crypt.

The crypt was a large rectangle of stone and mortar, the size of an average car, and it had a stone figure perched atop it, a female clothed in a heavy stone cloak and gown, and kneeling with her head bowed. Adam gestured to the crypt, and smiled a bit sadly. "My parents, Anastasia and David Dubois. If they could say anything, they'd probably be happy to meet you."

Elisa nodded sadly, figuring that the crypt held both mortal bones and gargoyle gravel; she occasionally had the morbid thought that her own burial plot would hold that same mixture some day. But Goliath gasped sharply, and could say nothing for a few moments. Finally, he managed to choke out, "Pardon me; it's a rather unsettling sight at first."

Elisa eyed him oddly, wondering what the heck he was talking about. Then it hit her, and she couldn't help a tiny gasp as well. That was no statue on the crypt; that was a female gargoyle! The 'cloak' was her caped wings, and her wings and kneeling posture concealed her taloned feet and tail, but did not hide the two tiny horns peeking out of her hair. But she was solid stone, at night… No wonder Goliath had been so freaked.

"Most of the clan avoids this place, as a result," Adam quietly confirmed. "Except the hatchlings that dare each other to come in and touch her, to prove their bravery… and me. I suppose it's macabre, talking to the stone equivalent of a human skeleton, but since they both died before I was hatched, this is the only contact I've ever had, other than a single letter."

"She wrote you a letter? While you were still in the egg?" Elisa thought that was endearing, like mothers-to-be who wrote letters to their unborn children, dreaming about what people they would one day become.

"She did… But before I explain about that, you should learn a few secrets of my clan's history." Adam gave both of them an earnest look as he added, "And these are indeed secrets; very few members of my clan know what I'm about to tell you. As I said last Wednesday, officially we're all devout Catholics, and Catholicism frowns heavily upon the use of magic. If the old priests in Notre Dame knew that some gargoyles knew and practiced magic, they would have cast the entire clan out, or smashed them in their stone sleep, rather than share the cathedral with them. Here in New Orleans, where the ways of voodoo are strong, there is some limited tolerance… but it was decided long ago that some things are best kept secret still, since the safety of all who sleep in stone depends on the oaths and tolerance of those who sleep in flesh."

"Mouths zipped shut; got it," Elisa said succinctly.

Goliath said rather formally, "I understand, and swear that no one shall learn your secrets from my lips or hands." Then he added curiously, "Since you said that you are all 'officially' Catholics, does that mean that unofficially, you still speak of the Great Dragon?"

Adam half-smiled. "We do, but for the most part, we tell the old stories only during 'story hour'. That's between two and three a.m., after the last human has gone to bed and before the first one gets up again. The histories are told to the hatchlings just as human fairy tales are, and only later, once they're old enough to truly understand, do we tell them that these particular stories are more than fairy tales. But not to contradict the Bible, oh no; merely to add to it, to what it left out, since our race isn't mentioned at all in its pages."

Goliath nodded slowly, his face unreadable.

Talking about religion tended to make Elisa uncomfortable, so she verbally nudged, "What else needs to be kept secret, beside the old stories about the Great Dragon?"

Adam turned to her and asked, "Do you remember when I said I was occasionally referred to as 'the Third Miracle'?" When Elisa nodded, Adam began, "The first miracle happened in the year 1207, before the builders of Notre Dame had even finished construction…"

* * *

Before the year 1200 A.D. as humans reckoned it, the gargoyle clan that lived in the French countryside had no names, nor needed any. All they desired was food enough to feed their hatchlings and the night sky to glide across in peace, and those they had, for countless generations. Oh, they'd had some trouble from time to time with the humans that lived nearby, but for the most part each side left the other well alone. 

Humans tended to fear the darkness and stay inside at night, when the gargoyles were up and about. So long as the gargoyles didn't touch the oxen and sheep, and other animals kept in pens at night, and the humans didn't try to set up residence near the base of the cliff face that the gargoyles occupied, they had little conflict with each other. The gargoyles who had troubled to learn the human tongue overheard that the humans actively feared them, and considered them demons and monsters… but really, what did that matter? So long as they kept their distance.

But in the large city that lay some miles over the horizon, a man had acquired a vision, a vision of a massive building to be dedicated to his deity, and he persuaded many people to help him achieve that vision. This massive building would be made of stone and glass, and the stone had to come from somewhere nearby… At first the stonecutters of the time dug and cut their stone from other quarries, avoiding the rich supplies that could be found at what the locals called _Montagne des Diables_. But the great cathedral needed more stone, and more… Finally, the stonecutters began scurrying in by day to cut what they could, before retreating to a safe distance before nightfall.

But the clan didn't take too kindly to someone trying to chew away at the base of their mountain home. Conflict was inevitable, as was the eventual presence of a stonecutter who was too intent on his work and didn't get out of range before nightfall. The first patrol of the night found him and gave him the fright of his life, taking him back to the clan elders for judgment.

The elders let the frightened man know that they did _not_ like what the humans were doing, and wanted it stopped immediately. They would let this man go free, solely so he could warn the others; the next one they caught would be killed outright.

The terrified human sobbed that he would tell the other stonecutters of their warning… but it would do little good. The first bishop in Paris who had first envisioned the mighty cathedral, Maurice de Sully, was dead now… But the new bishop who had taken his place, Eudes de Sully, was even more ambitious and determined to raise the cathedral to greater heights still. It had already been declared that God wanted the cathedral built. The bishop would surely say that God wanted their small mountain's stone for His great house, and no force of demons should stand in the stonecutters' way! The bishop would send soldiers, to force the stonecutters to work whether they wanted to or not…

His words gave the clan reason for great concern. In centuries past, they had witnessed wars between the humans; seen the battlefields afterwards, with stinking corpses left out on the war-torn fields, far too many to bury before they rotted. Gargoyles prided themselves on being excellent hunters, but had to admit that humans could be equally effective when it came to simply killing. A mass of soldiers in the area, soldiers who knew of the gargoyles and wanted to eliminate them… this would **_not _**be good.

Something had to be done! But what? No matter how many humans they sought out and killed at night, the gargoyles were all too vulnerable by day; the cliff face they lived atop could be surmounted in a single long summer day by a human who was determined enough.

Their clan had a shaman, one who could use the clan's few magic talismans that had been passed down through countless generations. The shaman knew the secret ways of sky and earth and water, and how to talk to the elements and ask them to do his bidding. Could the shaman use the talismans or ask the earth and sky to protect them somehow?

The shaman shook his head. Neither of the magical artifacts that the clan possessed could protect the clan indefinitely. Earth and sky could become many things, but the humans who tilled the earth, ripping it open to plant their seeds, and who filled the skies with smoke from their fires, could eventually overcome any protection that earth and sky would grant them.

What, then? What could they do?

They could either become friends with the humans, and allow them to take the stone that they needed… or they could leave their home behind and move to a new territory, as the wolves and bears did when a new and stronger predator came along.

The shaman's words were not given a kind reception, and the debate raged for many nights. But on the fourth night of their debate, four nights after the stonecutter had been released… soldiers came, a half-dozen of them bearing torches to burn through the blackness of night, and with a human priest at their forefront.

But this priest, who had been chosen at random by the bishop to check out this story of devils inhabiting a prospective quarry, was not like the other men the clan had encountered. After reading aloud from the book he was carrying did nothing to the gargoyles staring down from the cliff face, and after ringing a bell and flicking about some water from a flask he carried did nothing to them either, the priest did not order the soldiers to try to attack them. The gargoyles were prepared and braced for that; the first soldier to draw his sword or string his bow would have been ripped to pieces on the spot. But instead, the priest looked up and asked them: "What are you?"

An elder who knew some of the human tongue glided down to land and talk with him. The soldiers bristled, but the priest bade them stand fast, and the elder was allowed to land safely. The clan elder and the priest talked, all through the remainder of that night; when words for what they wanted to say were unknown, they took sticks and drew figures on the ground by torchlight. When the elder climbed back up the cliff face near dawn, the priest promised that he would return the next night, to talk again.

And when the clan awoke the next night, the priest and the soldiers were there at the base of the cliff again. The elder glided down to talk once more, to negotiate on behalf of the tribe and find some way that they could be left in peace. And the two talked for hours, sitting or crouching between the soldiers and the clan, while both sides watched each other warily and with great distrust. The soldiers still thought the gargoyles were devils, and the gargoyles knew that the soldiers were human weasels, ready to kill in an instant even when they did not need food.

Then it happened: something went wrong. Not long before dawn, some gesture was misunderstood as hostile; both sides instantly sprang up, ready for battle. Nearly all the clan had the advantage of high ground; the upper reaches of their home were even out of bowshot. But the elder was grounded, and vulnerable…

An arrow sped towards the clan elder's heart… but it found the priest's shoulder first. Whether by accident or by self-sacrificing intent, the priest had stumbled into the arrow's path, and saved the elder's life. The soldier who had loosed the arrow was soundly thrashed by one of his comrades, while the gargoyles watched, dumfounded; the elder was staying down there instead of climbing up to safety! And moreover, he was calling for the clan shaman!

The shaman had a hunch, and asked the sky for a favor… and light shone all around the shaman as he walked through air down to the ground, instead of gliding. He alit next to the elder, who was holding the badly wounded priest in his arms. And when the elder said bluntly that they must help and heal the priest, or war would break out for sure, the shaman nodded, and radiance surrounded them as the elder and shaman walked the air back up to the top of the cliff.

The soldiers had drawn back in awe as the shaman had descended, and as the two had arisen in light, one of them shouted that the creatures weren't demons, they were angels! Angels who had been sent to test their party's mercy, and they had failed most miserably; while the priest was being taken up to Heaven for his martyrdom, the soldiers would be cast into Hell!

There was a great uproar down below, but the clan paid little attention to it, focusing instead on the priest in the elder's arms. The shaman bade the elder set the priest on his feet, and hold him upright, while the shaman asked the earth for a favor; the greatest and strangest favor ever asked. The shaman touched the crystal pendant that hung about his neck on a leather cord; a talisman that had been handed down from shaman to shaman for as long as the clan had existed. Then just as the sun rose, he yanked the arrowhead out of the wound, and wrapped his arms and wings around the elder and the priest… and they all turned to stone together.

When the clan awoke that sunset, the priest awoke with them, shedding stone and shouting with astonishment. His wounded shoulder was healed without even a scar showing through the tear in his cassock, and he declared it a miracle; surely a sign that the gargoyles were, instead of demons, earthbound angels! Not fallen angels like Lucifer, but ones who had been assigned to Earth by God himself, for reasons of the Lord's own ineffable design. And they had been given such frightful forms in order to test the hearts of men, who frequently feared and hated those whom God had commanded them to love.

Still babbling of angels and miracles, the priest was gently returned to the base of the cliff so he could run off and find the soldiers who had disappeared during the day. The clan hoped that meant they would be left in peace now… but they were wrong. Two days later the priest came back, in the company of eleven other holy men, and a full forty soldiers!

This time the priest bore a message from the bishop in Paris, who praised God for revealing to them the angels assigned to guard the earth… and invited the fearsome angels to take up residence in the grand cathedral he was building. The priests and holy men were determinedly smiling, but not all the soldiers were smiling, and after some conferral, the clan decided that the soldiers were there to make sure the invitation was accepted… or else.

Twelve brave young gargoyles were picked to go with the company back to Paris; one for each of the priests in the company below. The elder made up something about needing to wait for a direct sign from God before committing the "full choir of angels" to the move, and the twelve would go to Paris and await the sign from their Lord. In actuality, the twelve knew they might well be on a suicide mission, but it was becoming plain that the humans just would not leave them alone… and if the clan could not beat them, then they'd better figure out how to join them.

Four nights later one of the twelve scouts came back, reporting that the bishop had indeed received them warmly, and none of the twelve had suffered any harm. And the bishop had said that he was really looking forward to quarrying more stone from their mountain, which would surely prove to be the best stone possible for building a house of God, since it had housed angels already…

The clan gave in and moved to Paris, to take perches on the cathedral as it was being built up around them. The shaman later remarked that it was ironic; he had said they would either have to leave their territory, or become friends with the humans… and as it turned out, they had done both.

* * *

Adam concluded, "And over time, the shaman's enabling the priest to turn to stone that one day and heal as we heal, was referred to as 'the Great Miracle.' It wasn't until an incident nearly four hundred years later, after the English gargoyles arrived, that it became referred to as 'the First Miracle' instead." 

"I take it something 'miraculous' happened when the English gargoyles arrived?" Elisa asked.

"Soon after, yes." And Adam told the tale:

* * *

By the year 1562, the gargoyles of Notre Dame had all but forgotten their original home, and become quite comfortable with the priests and monks they shared the cathedral with; they chanted the hymns, recited prayers in Latin and gave glory to God in the Highest as readily as any of the human residents. They named themselves after the saints and martyrs of the Catholic religion, and publicly agreed that all magic was the work of the devil (while privately making sure that their current shaman had hidden his or her talismans well, and practiced magic well away from human eyes and ears.) 

The younger priests and monks who were confined to the lower levels of the cathedral thought that the gargoyles were earthbound angels, sent to guard God's house from demons; visible proof that Notre Dame was indeed the holiest cathedral in the land. Every generation, a few carefully selected older priests were allowed to ascend to the highest levels and enter the rookery to see the youngest 'angels,' and told the truth about their fellow residents; those select few always swore to keep that information secret even from the local bishop.

In January of the year 1562, the clan had some unexpected arrivals. Four gargoyles arrived out of the night sky, gargoyles unlike any the clan had ever seen before; different enough that at first some had hesitated to even call them gargoyles, for all that they too turned to stone during the day.

The male stranger who called himself Andrew, looked very much like the Catholic humans' ideas of what an angel would look like, with his feathered wings; his face was utterly human in appearance, though instead of hair he had feathers covering his scalp. Indeed, if not for lifting the hem of the heavy robes he wore so they could see his tail and three-taloned feet, they wouldn't have believed him gargoyle at all.

But after accepting Andrew as a fellow gargoyle, the clan accepted the others as well; the female named Catherine who resembled a feather-winged feline, the male named Edward who looked positively equine right down to his horse's tail, and the male named Luke who resembled an ox stood upright and given wings.

The strangers had arrived speaking largely gibberish, with a smattering of badly-accented Latin, but by mid-March they had learned enough French and proper Latin to make themselves better understood. They told the Notre Dame clan about the clan they had left behind in England, that barbaric land across the channel. A clan where everyone had feathered wings, and most had heads like animals; a clan that had also lived in a cathedral in the heart of a city, though in London instead of Paris. But recently, after a few too many people had begun to question why these 'angels' only appeared at night and were made of flesh and blood instead of ethereal substance, the clan had decided to abandon the city and move to an estate far from most human habitations.

Most of the clan had left London willingly, tired of always pretending to be angels instead of who they really were, but four of them—Andrew, Catherine, Edward and Luke—had thought that the country life would be too quiet for them. And since the priests of their cathedral had heard rumors of another cathedral in France housing a host of 'fearsome angels', the quartet had decided to strike out on their own and find those who might possibly be their distant kin.

Once he had learned their language and customs, Andrew proved to be a great asset to the gargoyle clan. Looking so much more like the angels depicted in the cathedral's stained-glass windows, he became the clan's primary liaison with the priests. The explanation given for Andrew's sudden appearance was that a single novitiate (whose name was withheld) had feared the appearance of the cathedral's 'guardian angels' so much, that he had begun to fear the Lord more than he loved Him… which left one's soul vulnerable to the temptations of the demons that preyed on Mankind's fears. So to safeguard that single novice's soul, God had decided to send an angel who was less fearsome to human eyes, to reassure him of God's love for all.

The explanation went over very well; so well that some clan members were a bit insulted. Surely they weren't considered _that_ fearsome and terrible to look upon, by the priests they'd shared their dwelling with for centuries? But since it had worked so well the clan leader set their bard-chronicler to come up with another whopper to explain the appearances of Catherine,Edward and Luke, whom he kept secluded with the hatchlings until he thought it time for them to be officially introduced to the priests as well.

And in October of 1562, there was another unexpected arrival. An addition to the priests' ranks; a man calling himself Father Jerome, who spoke with an odd accent, and expressed extreme suspicion of the cathedral's resident angels. He insisted that they weren't angels at all, but _demons_ who had infested the cathedral and manipulated the priests with their lies, and had to be utterly destroyed in order to make the place holy again!

There was an immediate resulting uproar in the priests' ranks. Well over half the priests and monks vehemently disagreed with him, and insisted that he confess his sin of doubting God's truth and undertake penance in order to save his soul… but more than one man of the cloth muttered that they'd always had their suspicions, and it was about time someone had said the truth aloud!

But the uproar in the priests' quarters was nothing compared to the uproar in the upper reaches where the clan dwelled, once they heard the news. The clan had hatchlings not even five years old toddling around the rookery; they must not allow even a suspicion of a threat to their children! Most of the clan was all for immediately grabbing the rabble-rousing priest and pitching him from the highest point of the cathedral, and following suit with all the other mutterers unless they shut up fast and went back to their normal routine.

But Pierre, the clan leader, knew that outright violence would not silence the mutterings against them; they might grow quieter for a while, but would grow and fester the way a wound does, if it's bandaged but not properly cleansed. So after consulting with all the clan elders and their young shaman, he concocted a plan.

While the plan was still being tested to ensure it would actually work, Andrew crept down below after Matins to see this rabblerousing priest for himself… and came back to report that Jerome's odd accent was Scottish, and that his looks matched the description that his rookery brother Luke had given of one of the chief agitators against their clan back in London. Trouble had evidently followed the English gargoyles across the channel, but Andrew vowed it would spread no further.

Two days and nights of discreet testing ensured that Pierre's plan should indeed work as he hoped. After arranging the meeting with the cathedral's bishop, he and Andrew went to confront the troublemaking priest shortly after sundown on the first day of November, All Saints Day.

The resulting debate, witnessed by nearly every monk and priest assigned to Notre Dame, lasted the full winter night. Jerome had assembled arguments against them that were poisonously clever; using words from the Holy Bible and from the teachings of others such as Thomas of Aquinas to denounce the 'angels' as pretenders, frauds and demons who must be destroyed. But three-and-a-half centuries of living in the cathedral and speaking with holy men had given the 'angels' plenty of arguments to justify their existence, drawing from those same sources.

It was ridiculously easy for them to disprove most of the charges that they were demons; Pierre and Andrew partook of Holy Communion and the Eucharist without harm, and Pierre even stuck his arm into a fount of holy water that the bishop himself had blessed and withdrew it intact, whereas a true demon's hand would have been withered or utterly destroyed by contact with the hallowed substance. As for why they were solid, made of flesh, rather than of ethereal substance as creatures of Heaven were supposed to be made, obviously they had taken on human flesh in order to interact with them as Jesus had done back in Nazareth. But not all the arguments could be dismissed so easily. Jerome demanded to know why they turned to stone every day, hiding from the sun's rays from dawn to dusk; Jesus definitely hadn't done that!

Pierre finally told Jerome in a solemn voice that his kind turned to stone every day in order to protect the priests and monks from another danger, one that they normally did not speak of since the knowledge of it would open the way for temptation to creep in… but if the man insisted on learning the full truth, on knowing things that Man was not meant to know, then he would learn! Pierre proclaimed, "Dawn comes… and this dawn, we shall not turn to stone!" Then he turned to the bishop and urged the man to have all his priests and monks secure themselves in their quarters, lest they be affected by the truth as well… knowing full well that curiosity would win over their obedience, and as many of the humans would spy on them as could possibly manage.

On prearranged cue, most of the clan's warriors solemnly walked down the stairs from the uppermost reaches and assembled inside the cathedral's nave. While up in the rookery, the clan's shaman pulled out the clan's second magical talisman, one that was not designed for wearing on a thong around his neck; a statuette of a gargoyle crouching and holding his hands together as if in prayer. Until very recently, the talisman had not been used in centuries, perhaps even millennia, but the spells used to activate it had been passed down through their oral history and still worked well, as had been proven the day before. The shaman spoke the words of activation, assured the talisman that it was once again needed in order to protect gargoyles, and made his requests…

And as dawn crept over the city and illuminated the east-facing stained-glass windows of the cathedral, the gargoyles assembled inside the nave did not turn to stone. Instead, chanting a hymn of praise to God, they began to glow…

Less than three minutes after the sun rose, the cathedral was lit from within by light far brighter than the dawning sun outside; brilliant light that blinded the shouting and fervently praying priests and monks, so that they staggered about walking into walls and each other. Pierre declared in ringing tones that all could hear, "This is why we normally turn to stone during the day; to spare you all the sight that mortal eyes can not withstand! We are as _holy_ _mirrors_, who reflect the light of the Glory of the Heavens; only when the sun is down and dim firelight is all that you have to see by, can human eyes perceive us without being struck blind by the brilliance!"

The shaman had layered the spells carefully; remaining flesh during the day, glowing with brilliant light, _and_ adjusting their eyesight so the gargoyles themselves would not be blinded by the enchanted light. So while Pierre was loudly making his proclamation and the other warriors were singing hymns at the top of their voices, Andrew quietly stalked up to the blinded Jerome, swept the man off his feet and wrapped his feathered wings around them both, muffling the sounds of struggle as he clamped a taloned hand over Jerome's mouth and nose.

Three minutes later, Andrew removed his hand from Jerome's face and let the man drop to the cathedral floor, his sightless eyes now staring up into eternity. He and Pierre let the corpse lay where it had fallen, as they led the procession back up to their perches. Pierre announced as they left that after they withdrew their holy light from the priests and monks' presence, the humans should all recover their sight in a few days… but the one who had doubted and challenged them had been struck down by God for his sins. Still holding hands over his own blinded eyes, the bishop hastily agreed that the sinner had deserved it, before calling upon his congregation to sing God's praises even louder than before.

But when they reached their home in the upper reaches, the gargoyles found a dismaying sight; their shaman, who was only fifty-five years old and should have been in the prime of life, had seemingly aged a full century in the last few hours! His wings drooped and creaked, his skin wrinkled and sagged on his frame, his well-muscled body withered to skin and bones. The shaman croaked through a mouth gone near toothless that it was the price one paid for using the Praying Gargoyle; it was designed to protect gargoyles, but at the cost of a portion of the life force of the one who activated it. That had been incorporated into its design to ensure it would not be used frivolously; only in the direst situations that could not be resolved through nonmagical means. The testing the shaman had done before, on a lone volunteer and for only a few minutes duration per spell, hadn't cost him more than a few months of life; such a small price to pay he'd barely noticed. But re-casting the spells to include the entire clan, all three spells at once and for the duration of a full day, had cost more than even the shaman had anticipated…

The shaman's mate had been one of the warriors returned from the assembly in the nave, and at the sight of her mate in his horrifically spent condition, she howled in rage and despair, snatched up the Praying Gargoyle statue and smashed it to pieces. Immediately, the brilliant light that still emanated from everyone's bodies began to dim; the spells on them were fading away with the talisman's destruction. The shaman managed one last smile as he whispered, "It shall recover, in time. But I shall not…"

Those were the last words everyone heard as the last traces of the spells faded and they turned to stone. When dusk came, they awoke to find the shaman's body had crumbled to gravel.

* * *

"Wait a minute… Did you say the Praying Gargoyle was _broken_?" Elisa demanded, her eyes narrowed. 

Adam responded, "Yes, but--"

Elisa ignored him as she turned to her husband and demanded, "The one you broke, that Demona was wielding… did you see any seam lines? Evidence that it had been broken before, and glued back together?"

Goliath shook his head, his expression troubled. "I did not. Could there have been more than one such talisman?"

"Mass-produced Praying Gargoyles; that's all we need," Elisa moaned, rubbing her forehead. "If there are, then as soon as Demona gets her hands on another one, we can--"

"_I said_," Adam interrupted a bit louder than before, " 'Yes, but it got better'."

"…Got better?" Elisa and Goliath both stared at him.

"That's what I said." Adam gave a lopsided smile. "That's what our chronicles say, anyway. That talisman has the ability to regenerate itself after being broken, though it takes many years; 'two breeding moons and a hatching,' according to the old teaching rhyme. So about sixty years after what came to be known as the Second Miracle, the Praying Gargoyle was whole again… but the clan had no one who could use it, or the other talisman they called the Crystal Tear. The chronicler had written down the activating spell as he'd heard it, but the shaman had died before he could identify any youngster as having magical talent and begin training a new shaman apprentice."

Adam explained how, with no known magic-user to wield them, the talismans had lain unused on a shelf for the next two hundred years. During that time, the clan prospered and grew, until by 1771 they'd numbered too many for their perches again. In the past when that had happened, the splinter clan that formed usually went east, into the French countryside and beyond, until they could find unclaimed territory that could support a new clan. But this time, the departing youngsters decided to explore and claim territory in a new direction.

Over the years, the clan had gradually befriended not only a few carefully selected priests and monks, but a family of minor nobles who had supplied friends to the clan for three generations in a row; the Dubois family's practice of tolerance and fairness instead of intrigue and backstabbing may have prevented them from becoming significant powers at the royal court, but those qualities made them fine friends to the clan. And when Robert Dubois announced that he and his wife and child would emigrate to the New World to find their fortune, the clan decided that it was time some gargoyles explored the New World as well.

The departing splinter clan took not only copies of the clan's chronicles with them; they took the Crystal Tear as well, while the Praying Gargoyle remained behind in Paris. The new clan leader promised the main clan leader that if any hatchling they raised showed evidence of untrained magical ability, they would teach it what they could of magic from the chronicles, and advise the other clan of the mage's presence so it could be summoned to Paris if the need was dire. The main clan leader promised the same, before everyone said their final goodbyes and boarded the boat to the New World in the middle of the night.

The rest of the tale, Elisa had heard before, though neither of the gargoyles present knew that; she'd been listening in via the castle's security system when the New Orleans gargoyles had first arrived at the clan's home in Manhattan, and had told a bare-bones, severely edited version of how their clan had come to be. Since she knew it was being said again for her benefit, she listened quietly while Adam spoke of how the Dubois family had acquired a large tract of land outside the town and built a mansion there, and the gargoyles had settled in quite happily, hunting the bayous for food and occasionally patrolling the town, mostly to act as secret bodyguards for their human friends (New Orleans had already acquired a reputation as being a city where anything could happen, including sudden violence.) But they had retained contact with the old clan in Notre Dame, until the summer of 1793.

All of France had been embroiled in the French Revolution by then; the king and his family had already been executed as traitors to the State, and under Robespierre's Reign of Terror, thousands more people—some of them nobles, some of them bourgeoisie who happened to be a little richer than others, and some of them people who had just dared to speak out against the insanity—were being imprisoned and executed every month. The last letter the New Orleans Clan had received, from the Paris Clan's leader Valjean, said that they had been forced to evacuate most of the clan to an abandoned farmhouse outside the city, but they still had hopes of being able to return to the cathedral and their protectorate once the current madness died down. Then after that… nothing. A short time later, a visiting sea captain had told one of the Dubois family that Notre Dame had been sacked by the forces of the Revolution, and much of the cathedral's fineries—including several ornate statues—had been destroyed.

"We still hope that some of them managed to escape the slaughter, hiding out at that farmhouse, but we've never heard from them since then," Adam concluded with a sorrowful shake of his head. "If this immortal and criminally insane female that you told me about, Demona, was wielding the Praying Gargoyle and claimed to know how to activate it… then she might well have witnessed, or in her raging insanity even been involved in, the old clan's demise…"

"I wouldn't put it past her," Elisa said bluntly. "Particularly since you said the clan was on friendly relations with at least a few humans."

Goliath nodded grimly. "She has sworn enmity against the entire human race, and so views any gargoyle who befriends even a single human as a traitor to our race. And if she knows of the Praying Gargoyle's ability to regenerate… we must get word to our allies in New York immediately, to search the ruins of St. Damien's Cathedral and find those pieces of the talisman before she can get her hands on them."

"I'll take care of that, Big Guy," Elisa said hastily. "I need to call New York and check in with Matt anyway." Goliath still didn't know about the Quarrymen battle that had happened in New York exactly one week ago, and Elisa preferred to keep it that way for as long as possible. Even if she knew that the longer she delayed in telling him, the angrier he was apt to be, she kept stalling… She pasted a bright smile on her face as she said to Adam, "But that can wait at least a few minutes; you were still telling us about your clan's history! So what happened after 1793, and how did the Third Miracle come about?"

Adam nodded, and continued. "Ironically, not three months after they received news of the old clan's destruction, one of the hatchlings from the new clan's first rookery clutch began showing magical ability. The clan stressed the importance of keeping his ability secret from their human brethren, then gave him the Crystal Tear and taught him everything about magic that was in the chronicles, but he was never able to do much more than light candles—and only one at a time, at that—and stir up favorable winds to aid in gliding. That's all that any successive magic-user could do… until Anastasia," as he gestured again at the gargoyle in stone.

* * *

From her hatching, Anastasia had been a bit different from the others in her generation; quieter, moodier, often given to lone flights out over the bayou and even occasionally going to her stone sleep far from her rookery kin. Her behavior quietly worried her rookery keepers… even more so when they saw her take flight from a standing position on low ground, something no ordinary gargoyle could do unaided. It became evident that without any training, she had as much raw magical ability as any trained magic-user they'd seen in the last century. But the clan trained her anyway, in what little they could, and soon she could light an entire chandelier's worth of candles with just a few spoken words and a touch to the Crystal Tear she wore around her neck, and summon winds strong enough to give lift to half the clan's wings. 

By that time, the human side of the New Orleans clan had grown considerably, and there had been a few mixed marriages as well, between the white descendents of the original French settlers and the black descendants of former slaves. (To their credit, the Dubois family had always maintained their plantation estate with sharecroppers instead of slaves; after acknowledging the gargoyles as fellow sentients and equals, there was no way they could participate in the general population's mass pretense that humans from Africa were an inferior race.) Several of those human clan members now made their living in town, including the mulatto family of Thomas and Estelle Dubois, and their son David.

David had been born on the same night that a clutch of eggs had been laid, the generation after Anastasia's clutch, and everyone took that to be a sign that he would become a fine stone-brother; one of those who particularly befriended a hatchling until they were even closer than rookery kin. So when David was nine, his parents moved with him back to the estate, and he joined the rookery keepers in tending the eggs until they hatched. After they did, he particularly befriended a wee green hatchling named Eustace… but he spent even more time with Anastasia.

Everyone had known that Anastasia and David were close, but no one had realized just _how_ close until her thirty-sixth year, and the occasion of David's twenty-first birthday. That night they announced to the entire clan that they were secretly engaged, and had been for the past six months… and that very night, they would become mates. Then, before everyone's stunned eyes, Anastasia took David in her arms and glided off to the bayou. And when a few of the clan's single males got over their shock and indignantly/angrily started to glide after the pair, they found themselves blown about and forced off course by contrary winds. Anastasia would not allow anyone to stop or even follow them, and the clan leader put a halt to the pursuit before either any gargoyles were hurt, or any of the human clan members noticed there was something actively keeping the males from gliding after her.

Four nights later, the pair emerged from the bayou, simultaneously nervous and smug… and Anastasia's scent had a mated marker. The clan somewhat reluctantly accepted their pairing; there's no arguing with scent, as the saying goes. But the clan leader sternly advised Anastasia that there was mating, and there was _breeding_; when the Breeding Moon came in a few more years, she'd be expected to leave David for those few nights and fly with a male gargoyle to breed an egg for the rookery. The clan might have grown considerably in size over the last hundred and forty years, but their gene pool was still too limited to let any female member's possible contribution go to waste.

By all reports, Anastasia had flared wings and bared fangs at the commandment, but David had gently restrained her from doing anything rash and had sworn that a few nights apart and even an egg bred by another male, wouldn't change his love for her. And a few years later, when the Breeding Moon of 1922 rose, Anastasia ascended into the night sky and let an unmated male named Fabian chase her and catch her… but not until after midnight. The first few hours of the night, she'd spent alone with David in their small cottage on the edge of the estate. There had been an invisible barricade of capricious winds swirling around the cottage, preventing anyone from getting too close; after Fabian's first attempt to go inside and drag her out resulted in his being blown twenty feet back, no one else dared try to fight the winds and draw attention to the presence of magic.

When the winds swirling around the cottage had suddenly vanished and she'd burst out of the cottage and flung herself skyward, shrieking with lust, everyone had figured that her biology had finally won out over her stubbornness and she'd done what every good female gargoyle did when the time was right; what she should have done hours ago but better late than never, eh?

For the next few nights Anastasia shrieked and glided and mated on the wing just like everybody else, so no one said a word when, as soon as the Breeding Moon had faded and the breeding fever had passed, she spurned Fabian like he was spoiled meat and went back to David. She'd done her duty by the clan, and that's all that they had asked. And as he'd promised, David was as tender and loving to his mate as she swelled with egg as he'd been before; perhaps even more so than before, rubbing her swollen ankles and feet just as any devoted male gargoyle did for his mate. Everyone agreed it was very admirable behavior, and after four years of trying to ignore him, the clan leader finally told David he was indeed a good member of the clan.

Six months after the breeding, the eggs were laid, and the rookery keepers began caring for them just as they always did, turning them regularly and etc. Everyone else went back to their normal routines, with the exception of those chosen to begin the fifteen-year-old hatchlings' formal education now that they were out of the rookery.

Then in June of 1927, tragedy struck. David had been in town on a shopping trip, getting the supplies for the clan that they couldn't make, hunt down or grow themselves, when he'd been hit by an automobile driven by a drunkard. Anastasia had still been out on the estate while her mate was in town, but somehow she'd known what had happened, had shrieked and summoned hurricane-force winds to carry her into town, secrecy be damned! But she'd arrived only in time for her mate to die in her arms.

The next night the clan had solemnly laid David Dubois to rest in the clan's cemetery. Rather than being put in with the bones of others in an existing mausoleum, he was raid to rest in a raised tomb that Anastasia had quietly made herself, secretly summoning stone in slabs with the aid of the Crystal Tear. It was a magical feat she'd never done before, and the chronicler privately asked her how it was done so he could document it for future magic-users, but she ignored the question and instead asked him for pen and paper.

Anastasia spent the rest of that night writing a letter, that she put into an envelope addressed to no one. She gave the envelope to the clan leader, telling him only that the contents were not for him, and that he would know whom it was for soon enough; she would leave it to him to decide when it should be delivered. And as dawn approached, with everyone nervously watching, she ignored her usual perch on the roof of David's cottage and glided over to the cemetery. The clan leader had been prepared for her to perch at the edge of a high roof, or glide out to the bayou, and had others standing by to prevent her from 'greeting her last sunrise' by either falling from a great height or falling into the water to drown. But when she merely perched on her dead mate's tomb, he shook his head and bade the others leave her be. At least at the moment, she apparently wasn't determined to commit suicide; the clan could help her grieve and begin to heal tomorrow night when they all awoke..

Except Anastasia never woke up. Her form remained stone, never stirring again… Somehow, either using magic or just willing it through sheer despair, she had decided to join her beloved in 'eternal sleep', presumably until the Second Coming when all would rise again.

Also, when she'd turned to stone, the Crystal Tear had converted along with her and her clothing; it now appeared to be made of stone instead of crystal, and couldn't be removed. The clan leader quietly sighed to the few who had known of Anastasia's magic that if she'd really cast a spell of indefinite/eternal duration, she might well have burned the talisman out in the process… and besides, Anastasia had died before choosing an apprentice, so they wouldn't have known who to give it to anyway. Once again, the clan was without a magic-user… but they hadn't really needed magic for a long while now, had they?

The clan might have called Anastasia's 'eternal sleep' the Third Miracle, except it was just too eerie and disturbing; besides, miracles should be about Life, not death. So they just tried not to speak of it at all. The chronicler finished writing about the tragic tale of Anastasia and David, closed the book and set it aside to begin another one, and life went on…

Until March 1st of 1930, when an apprentice rookery keeper named Ursula got the shock of her life while turning one of the clan's eggs. That particular egg had already been remarked upon for hearing movement within, considerably earlier than the others, and everyone took that to be a good sign that it would be an exceptionally strong and healthy hatchling. But now, a full three years before the hatching time, there was a crack in the shell. Young Ursula was terrified that she'd somehow damaged the egg, but when her shrieks summoned the chief rookery keeper, a hurried examination gave the conclusion that the egg was _hatching_!

Everyone gathered around in astonishment, and just before midnight that night, the infant gargoyle emerged. And after one look at the hatchling's five-taloned hands, not-quite-normal-sized feet, wispy mane of tight black curls, and light brown hide the exact shade as the deceased David's skin, the clan knew that they had a half-human, half-gargoyle hybrid on their hands. Stubborn, willful Anastasia had gotten her way after all...

* * *

"Those who didn't know about my mother's magical ability were sure I was indeed a miracle, the Third Miracle, and I've been stuck with that since the night I was hatched," Adam said with a wry smile. "But after naming me Adam, the rookery keepers weren't quite sure what to do with me. I couldn't stay in the rookery around unhatched eggs; as I grew and began walking, I might well have endangered one of them with the usual childhood antics. Moreover, it just didn't seem right that I grow up without other hatchlings my own age; gargoyles are never raised alone. And Maurice Dubois had been born the previous November, and was then at nearly the same stage of development as a new-hatched gargoyle infant… 

"The clan decided that very night that I'd be raised alongside Maurice in his parents' nursery, instead of the rookery two floors above. Maurice and I have been called 'nursery kin' all our lives; even now that our aging disparities have become as obvious as our other differences, we still consider ourselves brothers. Also, Ursula was assigned to the nursery, to help my human kin watch over me for the first few years… and she's been trying to watch over me ever since."

To be continued… 


	5. Disturbing Questions

**6.5: Disturbing Questions**

Adam finished his lesson in the clan's unofficial history with another comment on Ursula. "I'm glad she's chosen a mate again; from what I've seen of him, your Hudson will suit her well. So long as he knows when to give in and let her have her way, that is…"

Goliath and Elisa both chuckled, before Elisa prompted, "So if you don't mind me asking… when did you receive that letter you mentioned, and what was in it?"

"The leader gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday," Adam replied, turning to stare at the stone form of his mother. "In it, she wrote about how much she and David had hoped and prayed that I'd come to exist, solid proof of their love and the union between two races… And she apologized for not being there as I hatched and grew, but she loved my father too much to want to live without him."

Goliath slowly nodded. "We had pairings that close back in Scotland, though in all cases back then both mates were gargoyles; when one died, the other often chose to greet his or her last sunrise rather than face another night. The clan tried to prevent that from happening, but weren't always successful… but I have another question. This cottage you mentioned, the one that David and Anastasia lived in and you were evidently conceived in… was that cottage, perchance…?"

Adam turned back to them with another wry smile. "Yes, that's the cottage you've been staying in for the last three nights. Ursula suggested it, and I thought it appropriate."

Goliath gave a warm smile of appreciation… but Elisa went pale as she could get, as she muttered, "Oh, Lord…"

Goliath overheard that, and looked down at her in concern as he asked her what was the matter. She looked up at him, wondering if she dared to say it aloud…

She and Goliath had just spent the last three nights making love, while she was biologically fertile—not compatible with Goliath's biology, but still fertile… in the same cottage that a hybrid gargoyle had been conceived, due to some spell that had been cast while that female had been biologically fertile.

What if that spell was still active inside the cottage, or had been reactivated by the presence of two people from different species having hot raw sex? _What if she'd just gotten pregnant?_

She had no doubt that Goliath would think that was the best news since waking up in the modern world; she knew his views on children. But Elisa herself was still nowhere near ready for motherhood…

But rather than say anything about her sudden fears, she cast desperately about for another subject, and found one. "Hey, look! Isn't that Hudson up there? We should talk to him, to congratulate him on getting together with Ursula!"

Goliath looked up, shrugged and hallooed upwards at the gargoyle gliding overhead, silhouetted against the clouded-over moon. And in short order, Hudson spiraled down for a gentle landing beside them in the cemetery. The clan elder glanced warily at the stone form topping the raised crypt, but said nothing about it; instead he said to Goliath and Elisa, "T'is good to see ye two out and about again; I trust yer wee 'breeding season' was well enjoyed?"

But instead of the impish, still-young-at-heart grin they would have expected to see accompanying such a question, Hudson mustered barely a polite smile. And his good eye had no roguish twinkle; if anything, he just looked tired and weary. Goliath frowned as he said, "Yes it was, but what has happened to you, old friend? We had heard good news about you and Ursula, but your appearance now leaves me wondering if the news is still good."

"Och, 'tis both good, and not so good," Hudson sighed. "I'd been thinking from the night we arrived, that Ursula would be a good companion to have for me remaining years. And I as much as admitted to it, and agreed to a mating ceremony, last night when the two of us were in the library with Benedict. But in truth, we hadn't much talked about mating afore that… and we hadn't discussed where we'd be perching together."

"Oh, ouch," Elisa said with a wince. "Let me guess; you brought it up tonight, and found out she really wants to stay here?"

"Aye, she does," Hudson sighed.

"Well, of course she does!" Adam said, apparently slightly indignant that anyone could think otherwise. "This is where she was hatched, and where she's raised three generations of hatchlings; this land is in her blood and bones!"

Goliath sighed and closed his eyes. "This is indeed a problem."

"It doesn't have to be," Adam said gently. "You've seen for yourselves, we have room enough for any or all of you…

Elisa knew exactly what he meant. Adam was once more extending the invitation for any or all of the Manhattan Clan to come live down in New Orleans permanently.

Matt's words echoed in her head, words he'd spoken grimly on the night they'd met the first envoys from the New Orleans Clan; the night they'd decided the best thing to do would be to get the gargoyles out of town as quickly as possible. "_You know Goliath won't leave town without you, and the clan won't leave without him leading the way_." She knew equally well that when she went back to New York, Goliath would return with her… and the clan-loyalty the others felt would have them going back too, no matter how comfortable they'd become down here.

But if she didn't go back…

If she didn't go back, then they'd all stay here, where there were no murdering Quarrymen out to kill them. No Tony Dracon, with his army of goons all too willing to get the gargoyles first if they could. No alarmed and suspicious populace that was not only aware of their existence, but more than halfway convinced that they were demons made flesh, and willing to pick up weapons against them. Here, the clan was relatively safe…

She was a New Yorker, dammit! Born and bred! She'd spent damn near all her life in Manhattan, made most of her friends there, fought her way up through the ranks of the NYPD, made a name for herself… No one had any right to ask her to give all that up and go live somewhere far away to start all over again!

But then, wasn't that what she'd been subconsciously expecting Ursula to do, up until a few seconds ago?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Goliath rumbling, "Your offer is most generous… but our reasons for reluctantly refusing still stand. We must return to Manhattan, and battle for acceptance from the populace that now knows of our existence. Now that we are 'in the spotlight', we cannot flee back into the shadows forever… not until the battle for acceptance is won. Otherwise, the next clan that is discovered and unwillingly cast into the spotlight may indeed find itself destroyed, by human fear and ignorance."

Oh yeah, Elisa had forgotten that argument. (_Whew_!) She said, "The Big Guy's right; as much fun as we've been having down here, we have to go back. If we don't show everyone that gargoyles are people too, the next clan that gets discovered could be in even bigger trouble; Xanatos can't bail out every clan that gets in hot water. And besides, I know just how persistent Travis Marshall and some of those other reporters hot on 'the gargoyle story' can be; sooner or later someone will figure out that the holograms Xanatos is randomly projecting now aren't the real thing, and start wondering where they've gone to. If they decide to start checking the flight plans of every Xanatos-owned aircraft that left New York on the night of the last confirmed gargoyle sighting… the longer we stay down here, the more danger that we could be putting _your_ clan at risk."

Now Goliath, Hudson and Adam were all looking alarmed. "No danger can come to the hatchlings!" Adam said forcefully, his wings flaring reflexively.

"I hadn't thought of that… we must return immediately!" Goliath rumbled, and Hudson nodded fervently.

"Hey, whoa, no panicking!" Elisa said hastily as she held up her hands to forestall them. "Fox told me that last time she'd spoken to her husband, the holograms were doing the job just fine, and it would likely take more than a couple malfunctions and sudden distortions or disappearances before the press really took notice; there are still plenty of stories going around of gargoyles as big as King Kong and walking through walls for them to sift through. I'm just saying we shouldn't stay down here for more than another few weeks; another month, tops. If nothing else, the P.I.T. will be wondering why the gargoyles aren't attending their meetings anymore… and they're allies we can't afford to lose."

Everyone considered her words, and slowly relaxed again. "We'll stay a bit longer, then… another fortnight, perhaps," Goliath rumbled. "But after that, we must return… All of us. Only Brooklyn may stay here if he has not chosen a female to court yet, and once he has become mated, he must return immediately. Between that first video made by the Hunters, the encounter with the Quarrymen at Manhattan Medical and the meetings of the P.I.T., I believe all of the clan has been caught on film or introduced to the public at least once."

"And just how were you planning to explain away the sudden appearance of gargoyles who _haven't _been seen in public before?" Adam asked with a raised brow ridge.

Elisa snorted. "Actually, that's the easy part."

Goliath nodded. "Elisa came up with the idea, and I believe she is right in that it will work easily. Since few human females are warriors in their own right, we will simply tell those who ask that Rebecca and whoever Brooklyn chooses for a mate, and Ursula if she comes, were kept hidden in order to, ah, 'protect the gentler sex' until it was thought they'd be safe."

Elisa added, "And the reason Angela was already seen is because she didn't listen to her mate and stay in the shadows like a good girl… Male chauvinism is still alive and well, believe me; at least 80 of the people who hear that line of bull will believe it without a second thought."

Adam gave a wry smile. "The sad thing is, you're probably right... But still, if Ursula doesn't wish to leave our home here, you'll likely never change her mind. And don't ask me to try to persuade her, either; I trust you understand why."

Goliath nodded, then rumbled, "But I trust you won't object if **_I_** speak with her? She'll be needed up in New York, and not just as Hudson's mate; our clan will need a rookery keeper. Of all the gargoyles in our little clan, only Lexington actually has any rookery-minding experience, and he left his rookery training behind to become a warrior nearly a decade before our thousand-year sleep. It should be easy enough to mind eggs, but we will need someone like Ursula with full rookery training, to raise the hatchlings."

Adam frowned heavily as he gave them a challenging stare. "So you still intend to not only live up there, but _breed_ up there, and raise hatchlings in a _known hostile environment_."

Goliath matched him stare for stare. "It's hoped that by the time the eggs hatch, the environment will no longer _be_ so hostile."

"And hopes can be cracked as easily as eggshells!" Adam's eyes began to glow.

Elisa saw that faint glow and knew without looking that Goliath's were also beginning to glow. "Hey, calm down, everybody!" An idea struck her, and she added, "Have you forgotten the cuteness factor?"

The clan leaders broke off their staring match to look at her in surprise. "The… cuteness factor?" Goliath echoed slowly, as if not sure he'd heard her right.

"Yeah, the cuteness factor! Even if the city's still leery of gargoyles by the time the eggs hatch, trust me, they won't be afterwards!" Elisa said enthusiastically, liking the idea more and more every second. "I've seen the hatchlings in your rookery and the ones in Ishimura, and I'm telling you, gargoyle kids can be as cute as human kids! I'm willing to bet they'll be even cuter when they're little toddlers, taking their first steps… We release a few home videos of infant gargoyles playing with their toe-talons and sucking their thumbs, and I guarantee that nearly all of New York will go, '_Awwww, how cuuuute_!' and kick the Quarrymen out of town for wanting to hurt such cute little critters. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the mayor asks about putting one on posters as a city mascot!"

"…_Mascot_?" all three male gargoyles echoed in varying tones of disbelief.

"Hey, it could happen!"

But privately, Elisa sure _hoped_ she was right about that cuteness factor… It had worked for the harp seals just fine; the practice of killing the infants for their white fur had just about died out after some people took photographs of seal pups before they were clubbed to death and showed them to the general public. People had actually gone up to the frozen north and risked their lives to stop the annual slaughters, and the U.S. federal government had finally passed some law making it illegal to import seal fur; without their primary market in the fashion industry, the hunts dried up and all but stopped dead. And all because those little guys looked so darn cute lying there in the snow, turning their innocent wide eyes up towards the camera… But would the same "cuteness factor" work for baby gargoyles, and by extension the entire gargoyle race?

Just one more thing for her to worry about, in addition to the worries over whether or not she was pregnant now. She wondered how soon she could get her hands on a pregnancy testing kit, and how far along one had to be before the little stick changed colors or whatever…

_To be continued_… 


	6. Troubled Gliding

**6.6: Troubled Gliding**

Brooklyn was becoming worried about his rookery brother. Broadway had been so enthusiastic about coming on this sight-seeing trip, going to see some of the New Orleans attractions mentioned in Martha's books. Brooklyn knew the Musée Conti Historical Wax Museum had been one of those sights, since he'd read _A Dish to Die For_ and remembered the scene where Irmina had escaped from pursuers by hiding in the midst of the tableau about the 'casket girls'.

And when they'd gotten to the museum and sneaked inside, Brooklyn had found himself entranced by the incredible detail to the waxwork sculptures—he would have sworn they'd been humans somehow frozen in time, except for their scents being wrong—and by Lucretia's storytelling ability; her words brought each tableau to life for them. Brooklyn didn't consider himself a history buff, but he'd really enjoyed himself… as much as Broadway apparently hadn't.

Every time Brooklyn had glanced at his rookery brother, he'd seen the same glum/irritated expression, as if Broadway would rather be anywhere else than there. Which made absolutely no sense, since the main reason Broadway had learned to read at all, was to learn for himself stories like the ones Lucretia had been telling!

Now, as they snuck back out of the museum and began the climb up to a good launching point, Brooklyn murmured to Yvette, "Listen, not that I don't enjoy gliding with you, but I'm going to help out my brother for the next trip. I think we need to talk."

"Of course, _cher_ Brooklyn! Your brother's well-being is important, and I'm not so foolish as to be jealous of that," Yvette whispered back with a smile, and ran a quick talon through his mane before speeding up a bit to climb up the building just ahead of him. Which gave him a magnificent view of her gently swaying tail with its spade-shaped tip, and her bare _oh my, what a view_…

Now was _not_ the time to get an erection, dammit! He had to talk to Broadway, and find out what was wrong with his rookery brother! _Focus on Broadway, Brook, not on what you are **not** going to get into tonight_, he sternly told himself. '_Three dates_' _rule, remember_? _No getting too cozy with **anybody** until after three dates_! But it was still awfully hard to tear his gaze away, and it took remembering in graphic detail the last time he'd reluctantly changed little Alex's poopy diaper, before the tent in his loincloth subsided.

Once he'd made it up to the roof, he turned to wait for Broadway and Angela, climbing right behind him. "My turn to be your left wing, bro'," was all he said as Broadway reached the roof.

Climbing right up behind Broadway, Angela opened her mouth as if to protest, but then closed it and looked quietly frustrated and miserable. No doubt she'd been planning to take another try at being Broadway's wing-mate, as she had before when they'd left the safe house… but that attempt hadn't worked out too well. They'd struggled along for about a block or so before Cassius had ordered them to ground themselves on the nearest rooftop, and took over on Broadway's left side. Cassius had loudly announced that helping a guest glide was the host's job, and he didn't want to neglect his duties, but everyone knew he was just covering over the fact that Angela just didn't know how to glide in tandem.

It wasn't really her fault that she didn't know how; she'd been raised on Avalon by human guardians, and most of her warrior's training had consisted of "pounce on it and start clawing", with a smattering of training on whatever weapons Guardian Tom had made or brought back from his travels. She hadn't started really learning how to fight, let alone fight in midair, until after she'd left with Goliath on the World Tour. And until less than a month ago, she'd never even considered the possibility that she'd have to help someone in the air who was just too big to carry.

Angela's very first experience at assisted gliding had been the night of Hudson's surgery, when she and Goliath had arrived at the hospital to find that another fight against the Quarrymen had been already won, and Hudson, his good eye bandaged over after surgery, was in need of assistance to get home. Goliath reportedly hadn't said a word when, after he'd stationed himself on one side of Hudson while preparing to launch into the air, Angela had placed herself on the other side and mirrored his movements, folding in the wing on Hudson's side while slipping her arm around his waist. But less than 300 feet after clearing the hospital, Goliath had gently told her to disengage and fly solo, while he supported Hudson himself.

Hudson told the others that he'd said aloud as he'd extended his free wing, "Aye, I'm not entirely helpless; didn't I just prove that against those Quarry-Rats?" But as he'd privately told Goliath and the Trio later, he'd privately feared being torn apart or dropped if she tried to 'help' him anymore; the lass had no idea of how to coordinate her wing movements with a partner, and every cross breeze had jerked them about like an ill-made kite on a string!

Angela just had no practice at a skill that everyone who'd been raised at Wyvern learned well before they were declared adults; it was part of the standard warrior training, and even rookery keepers learned how to do it in case of emergencies. Hudson had privately insisted to Goliath that she receive remedial training in tandem gliding, and any other warrior skills she proved deficient in, but with everything that had happened in the two weeks since then—the P.I.T. meetings, Maggie's birthday party, the funeral for Anne's husband, the bachelor and bachelorette parties, Goliath and Elisa's wedding, being penned in by the Quarrymen's helicopters, Broadway's brush with death, and coming down to New Orleans to meet a new clan and experience everything they had down here… Remedial tandem training hadn't been the only thing neglected lately.

But Brooklyn remembered his training just fine, so he was able to help Broadway into the air and glide in tandem with relative ease. Lucretia and Cassius led the way while Angela followed behind them, and after a minute or so of gliding Yvette blew him a kiss before dropping back to Angela's position.

Brooklyn let the sounds of the city fill their ears for another minute or two, before saying to Broadway quietly and simply, "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

Well, he couldn't exactly put Broadway in a half-nelson and force him to talk, could he? Particularly not when he was focused on coordinating their wings and compensating for their different configurations and size differential. Since Broadway had to be at least halfway preoccupied by the same task, Brooklyn fell silent and continued following their leaders to the next tourist attraction, Blaine Kern's Mardi Gras World. Hopefully Broadway's mood would improve soon…

_To be continued_… 


	7. Girl Talk

**6.7: "Girl Talk"**

Angela looked up at the pair gliding in tandem in front of her, feeling both hurt and frustrated. She had to admit she was unskilled at gliding in tandem with anyone, but how could she get any better if she didn't practice? And she had to learn, because Broadway was going to be her mate, and despite all the exercises she'd been coaching him in every night his wing still wasn't as flexible and strong as it used to be; she might well have to help him glide for long distances or in severe winds for the rest of their lives together. She shuddered at the thought, but it had to be thought, the possibility had to be faced… but how could she practice gliding with him if everyone else kept insisting they do it instead?

Oh, wonderful. Yvette wasn't gliding at Brooklyn's side any longer; now she was dropping back to glide next to Angela, barely a wing's length away. Angela reminded herself of her manners, and said quite civilly after a quick glance upwards, "Do you think it will rain soon?"

"Soon, but not yet," Yvette said after glancing upwards herself. "The air doesn't have the taste of rain yet, and the clouds are wrong for the sort of sudden downpour that surprises everyone. What have I done recently that offends you so?"

Angela was startled enough to almost lose her glide plane, but she straightened up and replied just as honestly and bluntly as Yvette had asked: "You tried to play tail-games with my Broadway, right in front of me!"

" 'Your Broadway' does not have your mark on him yet," Yvette pointed out. "After your leader's surprise announcement, I made very sure to get his scent and be sure he was unmated before letting him know of my interest. And after he declared himself 'off the market', I haven't even touched him, yes?"

"But you did it right in front of me, when not five minutes earlier I'd been holding Broadway's arm!" Angela argued. "You knew he was mine!"

"Yes, you had your hands on him, just as Rebecca had her hands on Brooklyn," Yvette said with a smile that showed a bit of fang. "Did that mean that Brooklyn was already claimed by Rebecca?" Angela had no answer for that one, and fumed in silence for a few moments before Yvette sighed and said, "Do be sensible, and make peace with me; we may well end up in the same clan together, and I have seen enough feuds in my life already!"

"What feuds exist in the New Orleans Clan?" Angela asked, suddenly curious… not to mention eager to change the subject. "I haven't seen anyone be anything other than civil with each other… well, except for the first few days here, when you and your sisters were fighting over Brooklyn…"

"When you glimpsed that, you might well have glimpsed Isabel and Marie fighting more with each other than the rest; those two have hated each other since we were all in the rookery together," Yvette confided. "And then there is the feud between Marie and Robert; that one is almost as bad… But between Isabel and Marie, there is spilled blood, and no hope of reconciling."

"What happened to make them hate each other?" Angela asked.

Yvette shrugged. "At first, it was simply who they were. Even as a hatchling, Isabel was very independent, always going off by herself to draw or build something… And Marie, back then, led our generation in nearly everything else. But even when we listened to Marie and played the games she wanted to play, Isabel wouldn't listen to her or do anything she said. Marie hated that, and tried to force her into submission, or make us hate her too… but Isabel, she is an artist like no other; she can take a pile of ugly scrap from a junkyard and turn it into a thing of beauty. Her art is her life, and none of us could hate her for that, so we tried to simply make sure the two were always apart.

"After Isabel began welding her art, Bernadette was sure that someday she would burn herself terribly in an accident with her welding torch—you may not know this, being a leather-wing like myself, but feather-wings are terribly vulnerable to fire—and when it happened, if Marie would only be kind to her sister in distress, then Isabel would accept her in turn and all would be well at last. But instead, one night about eight years ago—or was it nine? No, it was eight years ago that Marie went into Isabel's workshop, where she had been making a magnificent metal gryphon, and took a hammer to it. I think Marie meant to completely destroy all of Isabel's works in progress, in order to break her will so she would be more likely to submit… or perhaps Marie had just finally snapped, and wanted to hurt Isabel any way she could. Who can say? But Robert saw her going in and alerted not only Isabel, but Adelbert and Joan, and they all looked in through the window to see Marie swinging the hammer and wrecking the gryphon.

"Isabel was furious, of course; so furious, she went right through the window at Marie, grabbed the hammer away from her and broke her left wing with it! Marie went screaming for the healer, and crying that Isabel had gone mad and had to be banished… but when Robert, Adelbert and Joan testified as to what they saw, and the elders saw what Marie had done to the gryphon—one that would surely have sold for thousands of dollars, too; income the clan could use!—it was Marie who was banished the next night, after her wing was healed. It was only for four nights in the bayou, but that was long enough for the rest of us to realize that Marie was nothing like a good leader should be. Some of us wanted to persuade the elders to banish her forever, but that would have been wrong; she hadn't killed or crippled anyone. Finally, we decided that we would welcome her back, but she would never be our leader again. That is, most of us would welcome her back; we all knew that Marie and Isabel would never forgive each other."

"Or Robert, since he was the one who saw her first and alerted the others?" Angela guessed.

Yvette snorted. "Oh, that feud began a good two years before the gryphon statue was even started! That began when… er, Angela, you have heard of gays, the males who prefer other males, yes?"

"Oh, of course!" Angela assured her.

"Ah, good; since you were all hatched in medieval times, some of us weren't certain. Well, Robert is a male like that. It's not by his choice, really! He lamented to me once that, if he could only be aroused by a female at all, he and Rebecca would surely have become mates years ago. They have always been so close, but… Anyway, you understand his gayness is just something he must live with, like lacking horns or having feathered wings, yes?" Yvette asked a trifle anxiously.

"Okay," Angela shrugged.

"But Robert did not always know he was gay, and neither did the rest of us. And Robert is a fine male to look upon, wouldn't you agree? You did see him for a bit when we were at the safe house."

Angela nodded. "He's very handsome… but don't tell Broadway I said that!"

"We all think he is handsome; such a waste, that he can take no female for a mate!" Yvette sighed. "Some elders have given him grief over it, too; it took a long time for them to understand. But I was talking about why Marie hates him…. Once we were mature enough to think seriously about the males, Marie decided that Robert would be hers, and she set out to make him so. But nothing she did to flirt with him and seduce him worked; Robert simply could not be aroused, not even slightly, even though by that time Cecilia already had Martin following her every move by using much the same tactics. And Robert had never liked Marie that much anyway, because she used to be cruel to Rebecca sometimes, and I already told you how Rebecca and Robert are very close. So at a _fais do-do_, when Marie tried once more to claim Robert as hers for more than just a dance, Robert finally told her, in front of everyone, that he was no more interested in her than in a clay pot!

"Marie was humiliated, and she has never forgiven him for embarrassing her like that. And ever since we learned Robert is gay, Marie never fails to insult him and his gender preference, and encourage others to speak out against him. Which only makes Robert hate her even more, and he has a tongue even sharper than his talons when he wishes; if the two of them are stuck in a room together for more than four minutes, we must herd the hatchlings out before they hear words and phrases they're not supposed to learn yet! So you see, Angela, I have long had to live with two feuds, and I would much rather be friends with you than start a third one," Yvette finished.

Angela did indeed see her point. "All right, I'll forgive and forget," she agreed, "_if_ you promise to leave my Broadway be in the future, even if Brooklyn finds he's interested in someone else. Oh, and leaving him be also means not making any cracks about his size or weight, okay? We all know he's overweight, but it's rude to remind him of that."

"Well, of course I wouldn't make remarks about his being overweight!" Yvette said, sounding affronted. "When have I ever?"

"How about, during the ride into town tonight?" Angela said pointedly.

"When did I—oh, you thought that was about his girth? Angela, I was complimenting him on his size overall; haven't you noticed he has such wonderfully broad shoulders and wings? He needs only lose a few pounds for the rest of the world to see that he is _très homme_; very manly indeed!"

Angela had to remind herself that she was _trying_ to make peace with Yvette and become friends with her. So she held her tongue for a good four seconds before saying in a deliberately calm tone, "Yes, once he loses that weight, he'll be much more virile. And he and I will still be promised to each other, so you won't be chasing after him, _right_?"

"Yes, yes, promised to each other," Yvette said with an annoyed look. "Didn't I already tell you, I do not go pursuing males who have said already that they are happy with somebody else! If I _were_ that type, you and he would know already!"

It was true, Yvette had kept her talons off Broadway since that first night. And it was as Diane Maza had said at the bachelorette party: It's all right if they look, so long as they don't touch, and the same rule applied for males as well as females. Angela said as much, and apologized to Yvette for her insinuation.

"That's all right," Yvette said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But tell me truly… Broadway's weight bothers you greatly, doesn't it?"

"Well… somewhat," Angela admitted.

"But you love him, as he loves you, yes?"

"…Yes!"

"Then you should become mates as soon as possible!"

"What? No! That is, that's his _incentive_ to lose weight; I've told him already that we'll become mates as soon as he loses enough pounds to… well, once he's fit and trim!"

"But haven't you heard, that **_sex_ **is a fine aerobic exercise? Perhaps not as much as gliding, but it can be far more fun! Since his wing is injured he cannot chase you in the air for now, but you both have good legs, yes? Make him chase you on foot for a while each night before he catches you, or before you trick him and pounce on him. Back at the estate, we have dozens of acres of bayou for chasing each other in… A good chase and a good long frolic every night, and the pounds will just melt away!"

Angela's tone was acidic. "And you speak with the voice of experience, I suppose?"

Yvette looked hurt. "You doubt me? Then speak with Lucretia, or Ursula, or any of the clan elders; any of them would tell you the same! And yes, _they _will speak from experience!" and with that, she sped up and glided away from Angela, moving to glide alongside Brooklyn and Broadway.

Angela was a little sorry that she'd evidently offended Yvette with her last comment, but she didn't try to glide up and apologize. Instead, she hung back and followed the others to their destination; Yvette had given her something to think about.

_To be continued_… 


	8. Worth The Price

**6.8: Worth The Price **

Back at the estate, Elisa turned off the cell phone, then just stared at it for a few moments with a troubled expression. Goliath came walking into the room, noted her expression and asked, "Is something wrong back in Manhattan?"

"Nothing besides the usual crime rate," Elisa absently assured him. "I couldn't speak with Matt; he was out of the precinct, on another case. But if they're still there at all, the pieces of the Praying Gargoyle have been lying in the ruins for almost two months now; another night won't matter much."

"Then something else troubles you," Goliath observed quietly. "What is it?"

Elisa sighed. "Davis—one of the rookies on the GTF that I told you about—he answered Matt's phone while Matt was out, and before I could tell him not to he'd handed it over to Captain Chavez. And I had to lie to her about the chicken pox again…"

Goliath nodded slowly. "And that upsets you…as it should, of course. Chavez is the leader of your police clan, and no decent clan member would want to lie to her leader."

"She's more than just my leader, Goliath; she's my friend. As much of a friend as any boss can be, though we try to keep it strictly professional while the guys are around. She was there for me when I broke up with Mark, my last boyfriend before you came into my life—and don't ask me any questions about that; you know I don't ask you about Demona, okay?—anyway, she was there for me, and I was there for her when she and her husband divorced and he got primary custody of their daughter, because of her more dangerous occupation. For years while I worked my way up through the ranks, we were there for each other… but for the last two years…"

Goliath enfolded her in a hug of arms and wings, and she relaxed into his warm embrace. After a few moments, he rumbled, "Perhaps the conflict can be ended soon. For a long time you were reluctant to entrust Matt Bluestone with the secret of our existence, but he has proven a loyal ally to the clan. You could simply tell your captain about us…"

Still wrapped in her husband's embrace, Elisa miserably shook her head. "Then I'd just be passing the headache of keeping you safe on to her, and with her it would be even worse because she has to deal with the press and city officials all day long. I'd be asking her to lie constantly, not just sometimes but all the time whenever you're mentioned, which is pretty darned often these days. And if one day she decided she couldn't lie anymore…"

Goliath stroked her hair as he sighed. "And so you continue to lie, for her sake as well as ours. I fear sometimes that being one of us is a crushing burden to you, beloved."

"Hey, it's worth it," Elisa murmured. "Every time you hug me, and every time Angela or Hudson or one of the Trio smile at me and call me clan, I know it's worth it."

After a few more moments of simply embracing, Goliath suggested, "Would you like to go for a glide over the bayou? After the last three nights inside this cottage, I feel the need to stretch my wings."

Elisa leaned back in his embrace so she could smile up at him. "Big Guy, when have you ever known me to refuse a glide with you? I'd love to go! After the last month of chilly New York weather, it'll be nice to go flying in warm air again."

"Yes, delightfully warm air," Goliath said with a smile, one that showed a wicked glint of fang. "Air that's so warm, perhaps you can wear less clothing than usual; perhaps only that little black silken dress, the one that's so short it shows your rump when you--"

"Why, Goliath!" Elisa purred, tapping him playfully on the chin. "Are you saying that you have more in mind than just a simple glide?"

"Well, we never did have a proper mating flight after the wedding…"

_to be continued…_


	9. Words of Encouragement

**6.9: Words of Encouragement**

Blaine Kern's Mardi Gras World more than lived up to its reputation; the warehouse-sized buildings were filled nearly to the rafters with statues, bas-relief images and fully decorated floats, all "props" from past Mardi Gras celebrations. Nearly everything imaginable had been made from wood, papier-mâché, foam or fiberglass, and painted every color ever heard of. There were bears and goats and giraffes and baboons and elephants and unicorns and dragons and dolphins and merfolk and a golden giant seahorse,and some creatures Angela was sure simply couldn't be based on real beings at all, for even Avalon had never seen such creatures on its magical shores. And there were dozens of caricatures of human beings, some as giant heads and some as full figures, scattered everywhere in the halls. Chipped and faded paint and dents from prior rough handling could be seen on many of the older displays, but some of them looked so lifelike, that Angela was almost ready to swear that one of the mermen had _winked_ at her.

Brooklyn was just as impressed as Angela at the displays, and even Broadway was pulled out of his inexplicable black mood, enough to smile at some of the sillier sculptures. That encouraged Angela enough to pull him to one side, as their guided tour was winding down. Cassius was telling a mischievous tale of just what his rookery generation had done once with that sculpture of Marilyn Monroe, and Brooklyn was laughing till he could hardly stand upright, when Angela quietly nudged Broadway with her tail and got him to follow her to behind a nearby parade float.

"Broadway… when we return to the estate later… would you like to have some fun with me, _without_ our escorts?" Angela asked.

Broadway almost visibly perked up. "Really, you mean that?" Then he paused, and asked cautiously, "Uh, what sort of fun?"

"Oh, I was thinking that we could go for a walk together… and maybe take Bronx with us; the hatchlings are stuffing him with so many treats, he surely needs some good exercise."

"Oh. Well, sure, we can go for a walk with Bronx."

"And perhaps more than a walk. Perhaps… a chase?" Angela purred, tapping Broadway playfully on the chin.

Broadway swallowed hard. "Honey, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Mmmaybe…" After a significant pause, Angela continued, "Perhaps we can't chase each other in the air right now, but a good long chase on the ground is good exercise, too. And there's more… I'm going to ask Yvette to make some mating ceremony attire for you, as well as for Lexington."

"Really? You're not going tomake us wait until--"

She touched a talon to his lips as she said playfully, "Shhh, I'm not finished yet... The tuxedo she'll make for you willbetoo small for you right now, but if we keep running together and chasing Bronx and each other, you'll lose those pounds and inches fast enough! And on the night you can fit into that tuxedo…" she leaned in close, her breasts just brushing his chest as she whispered, "_I'll let you catch me_."

Broadway's eyes were the size of saucers. "_Jalapeño_!"

_To be continued..._


	10. Near Dawn

**6.10: Near Dawn**

Goliath and Elisa returned to the estate roughly an hour or so before the sun was due to rise. Famished from their exertions, they ate with Fox, Adam and several other members of the New Orleans Clan; Martha and her helpers made for them all a hearty dinner/breakfast of Eggs Pontchartrain (English muffins topped with bacon, fried oysters, poached eggs and tasso Hollandaise sauce), _pain perdue_ (New Orleans-style French toast), _grillades_ (spicy-sauced veal escallopes) and grits.

"_Ohhh_, if this keeps up, I'm going to need to buy a larger size pair of jeans," Elisa moaned contentedly as she sopped up one last bite of _pain perdue_ before pushing her chair back from the table.

"No, you won't," Goliath assured her. "I'll make sure you get plenty of exercise…"

By the time Elisa's blush had faded, the honking horn outside heralded the return of the delivery truck from New Orleans, returning with the courting youngsters and their escorts. They went out to greet their clan members, and found everyone in good spirits; Broadway was disappointed that the night was almost over so soon, but Angela assured him that they would have fun the next night as well.

Now that their second honeymoon was over, Goliath decided to perch with the rest of the clan, in their places of honor in the midst of the New Orleans Clan. Elisa gave him a good-morning kiss, then stepped back with a fond smile as the sun peeked over the horizon and her husband turned to stone with the others.

Still smiling, Elisa went back down the stairs from the roof, thinking that all in all this really was a wonderful vacation… but her smile faded when she saw Fox at the base of the stairs, her cell phone in one hand and her face grim. "What's wrong?"

Fox said slowly, "I just called David, to wish him a good morning. There's more bad news, back home…"

_**THE END**, for the moment_… 


End file.
